“I shall never marry,” said Ann Veronica, resolutely; “I’m not the sort. "He is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. She turned with an effort. I’d take it— forgive me if I seem a little urgent—as a sort of proof of friendliness. “But if you had?” she said. No doubt there’s some little mistake.
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